


Take Me Home

by musiquetta



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas fic, Community: deancas_xmas, M/M, Team Free Will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-04 20:16:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3087698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musiquetta/pseuds/musiquetta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is up to his elbows in Christmas preparations when he realizes that he forgot something really, really important.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Me Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ShippersList](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShippersList/gifts).



> Takes place at some nebulous point in Season 8 when Cas is human and the boys can have (semi-) nice things.

Dean storms in from the bunker’s kitchen, tearing his heavily stained apron off with his oven gloves still on, with a frown deep enough to make Sam wonder whether there is a wendigo infestation in the bunker, hellbent on ruining the Christmas that Dean has been slaving away for for three days straight.  
  
Sam turns to look at Cas, who has been sitting next to him watching silly Christmas cartoons. Cas shrugs.  
  
“Did Jody call?” Sam tries as Dean chucks off the gloves with more force than strictly necessary. “Is there a case?”  
  
“What?” Dean frowns. “No! I just … forgot something.” he says, tugging on the heavy winter boots. It's been snowing for days and if the forecast is to be believed, there's a strong chance it'll get worse.  
  
“What? More ingredients for pudding and pie? Because, dude, I'm pretty sure the ones we have will last us till next Christmas.”  
  
“No, I – ” Dean mumbles, the end of the sentence lost in the scarf he's wrapping around his head.  
  
“You what?”  
  
“I forgot the tree, Sam.” Dean yells, angrily tugging on the heavy coat he'd grudgingly purchased after the weather forecast kept looking more and more like the apocalypse was back for seconds.  
  
“The tree?” Sam echoes, trying hard to suppress his laugh. Dean had been ‘christmas-ing up’ the place since they’d gotten back from their last hunt. There was a garland over the fireplace and Dean had commandeered Sam’s laptop to hunt down and try out about a hundred different Christmas recipes.  
  
About a third had ended up edible.  
  
“Yes, the goddamn tree, I forgot the tree.”  
  
Sam turns back to the TV as Dean pulls on a bright red beanie, biting back a smile. Cas sits beside him looking genuinely worried. There's still flour in his hair and some on his blue Christmas sweater. He'd taken the exile from the kitchen really hard.  
  
“Do you want to get a tree now?” Cas asked. Dean's glare is upon him in an instant.  
  
“No, I thought I'd visit the bowling alley, throw some balls, have a beer.” Dean deadpans while tugging up the zipper.  
  
Cas frowns. “There's no reason for sarcasm, Dean. I was merely wondering, because the weatherman said to stay indoors.”  
  
“And that recipe said 'stir gently' and you turned the batter into a damn tornado so I guess we're both guys who don't play by the rules.” Dean fumbles the key out of his pocket. “And shut up, Sam.”  
  
Sam hasn't been able to hold back his chuckles for a while now. “But he does have a point, Dean.” Sam says. “It's bad out there, and besides, it's Christmas Eve. Who knows if they still got any?”  
  
“It's the tree, Sammy.” Dean says. “You can't have Christmas without the tree.”  
  
“Really? 'Cause I remember a few without a tree – or anything Christmas at all.”  
  
Dean glares at him. “Just look after the pies in the oven and don't let,” – he nods in Cas' direction – “him into the kitchen again.”  
  
Sam rolls his eyes and takes another sip of his beer.  
  
Cas stands, brushing cookie crumbs off his sweater. “I could … accompany you.”  
  
Dean lifts an eyebrow.  
  
“Trees are heavy.” Cas adds.  
  
“Not that heavy.” Dean grumbles and turns to leave.  
  
“I would provide company.” Cas tries again.  
  
Dean makes an agitated, grumbling noise. “Well, if it keeps you from messing with my kitchen again, fine.” Dean tugs open the door and Cas hurries, grabbing his jacket off the rack to run after Dean.  
  
“Just do me a favor,” Sam yells after them. “and don't drive three hundred miles for a tree, 'kay?”  
  
**  
  
“Son of a bitch!” Dean's fists hit the steering wheel with enough force to jerk the wheels. Another vendor, another empty lot.  
  
They’d been trying for the better part of three hours.  
  
“Perhaps we should return soon.” Cas suggests. He has been fidgeting with the hem of his jacket pretty much since they got into the car.  
  
Dean throws him a glare for his troubles. “And then what? Have a sucky Christmas without a tree?” He jams his foot on the gas as they leave another small town in rural Kansas.  
  
The snow is coming down heavy now, with the wipers going at full speed and still the snow managed to white out the windshield in a few moments.  
  
They're just about 20 miles from the city limits when a loud groan disrupts their uneasy silence. Dean frowns.  
  
The steady droning of the motor that accompanied their trip stutters as the car slows down.  
  
“No.” Dean says as if his words can realistically stop what is happening next. “No, no, baby, not now.”  
  
The car stops.  
  
Dean grabs the key, turns it in the ignition. The motor groans but stays stubbornly out.  
  
“It's probably the cold.” Cas says as Dean's forehead hits the steering wheel. The hunter immediately shoots up again.  
  
“Gee, Cas, you think?” Dean deadpans as the windshield is already covered in a layer of snow.  
  
“It's the most likely explanation.”  
  
The door slamming is Cas' only answer. For a good while, the only thing he sees of Dean is his shadow through the – by now impressive – layer of snow on the windshield.  
  
He feels the car moving, though, bouncing slightly as Dean tinkers with the motor.  
  
When the door finally opens again, Dean is busy shaking off the snowflakes that clung to every part of him, muttering something about upholstery through chattering teeth. He climbs inside and the force of the door slamming shut sends the snow tumbling down around them.  
  
The influx of light from the windows doesn’t last long though, as it's still coming down.  
  
“Triple A is gonna take a while.” Dean says, rubbing his bare hands.  
  
Cas opens his mouth.  
  
“Don't,” Dean growls. “Just don't say it. I'm an idiot, you told me so, I know.”  
  
“Well,” Cas says, clearing his throat. “Be that as it may, but there are blankets in the backseat. I thought they would be useful in the hours to come.”  
  
“There are no blankets in the – ” Dean frowns as he turns to see some thick woolen blankets lying there. He raises an eyebrow at Cas. “Did you put blankets in my car?”  
  
“Along with water and calorie-dense non-perishable food.” Cas explains. “They're recommended to have, in case of emergencies.”  
  
“Yes, I know that, that's not what I – nevermind.” Dean leans over the seat, grabs the blankets and throws one to Cas.  
  
Cas struggles with the blanket. It's dark again inside the car; there's a streetlamp just outside but the snow is blocking the light. Dean pulls the blanket over himself with a grim expression.  
  
“You're upset.” Cas says.  
  
“Nah, this is my usual holiday spirit.” Dean huffs and punches the stupid scratchy blanket. There's no way he'll be comfortable here anyway. “I'm tap-dancing under here.”  
  
“Your behaviour.” Cas draws up his blanket, turning away to look out the window again. “It is very uncalled for.”  
  
“Yeah, tell me about it.” Dean grumbles.  
  
Silence stretches. Snowflakes gather and drown outthe last of the light.  
  
“There'll be a Christmas next year, Dean.” Cas says. “And the food will be equally enjoyable, whether there is a tree or not.”  
  
Dean laughs. “Yeah, well, Food’s not what Christmas is about.”  
  
“Well, extrapolating from commercials and sitcoms I'd say it is about buying overpriced presents and being around relatives you dislike.” Cas turns to look at Dean, eyebrows drawn high. “That is, I am afraid , as far as my expertise as a former celestial being, who was stationed on earth when the savior, whose supposed birthday we are celebrating, was born, goes.”  
  
Dean rolls his eyes. “Wow, I really regret the day you learned what sarcasm is.”  
  
“Me too.” Cas says. “While it is useful to participate in conversations, the concept and the associated worldview are too sinister for my liking.”  
  
“You would.” Dean says, leaning his head back against the seat, closing his eyes.  
  
“So what do you think Christmas is about?”  
  
“Candy canes and dudes in elf costumes.” Dean murmurs.  
  
“Dean. You’re obviously upset and you have been acting strange for days.”  
  
Dean sighs, opens his eyes again to glare at Cas. “I wanted one Christmas, okay? One christmas where we’d sit together, eat until we’re practically comatose and get into stupid fights over gifts because we’ve had too much eggnog. But we can’t because I forgot the stupid tree.”  
  
“I don’t understand.” Cas says. “None of that seems pleasurable.”  
  
“Yeah well, and now you’re not gonna find out.” Dean murmurs, wriggling around in his seat. The cold of the leather seeps through his jeans, and his feet are still sticking out at the bottom of the blanket.  
  
“There is a Christmas next year, Dean. The effort of making a similar amount of baked goods will have to be repeated but – ”  
  
“Cas.” Dean says, head whipping around to face the questioning face. “It's a friggin' wonder we're all around this year and that there's not a damn apocalypse and generally no one is dying and everyone has their soul – all of that is a goddamn Christmas miracle but twice in a row? Not fucking likely. – do you honestly believe we'll get another shot?”  
  
Cas looks at him and Dean needs no light to know that expression, he knows it from the jawline and the indignant breath Cas takes before his lips even form the “I believe that.”  
  
“'Course you do.” Dean mumbles. “But, no, this was my shot and I'm spending Christmas Eve stuck in the car, without a tree. Story of my damn life.”  
  
“I am sorry your plans did not work out.”  
  
Dean huffs at that. “Yeah, well. Nothing we can do about it now. Don't know what I was thinking anyway. Us, sitting around a table eating turkey, drinking eggnog and unwrapping presents?” He shudders. “Sounds like an episode of some horribly wholesome TV show. I'd be itching for a vamp to behead about halfway through.”  
  
“It has a certain appeal.” Cas says, shrugging. “I think I would have enjoyed it. If for nothing else, then for the fact that the prospect seemed to make you happy. It was good to witness.”  
  
Dean is biting his lips and Cas can’t see his hands, but he’s sure they’re balled into fists to keep them from fidgeting.  “Doesn’t matter much now.” he finally says in a flat tone. “Even if triple A gets here, there’s no way we’ll find a tree now, in the middle of the night.”  
  
“Christmas as such,” Cas says. “is placed rather arbitrarily in the calendar. We could always do what we celebrate, uh, tomorrow, or whenever it is convenient for you to prepare such massive quantities of food again.”  
  
“You mean if there's a quiet day where none on us are dead, dying, traitors, or otherwise unable to attend?”  
  
“That sounds favorable.” Cas says.  
  
Dean looks at him, wry smile on his lips. He opens his mouth to say something, before sighing and turning to look straight ahead again.  
  
“Hey look at the time.” he says, nodding at the clock ticking away in the dashboard. It had passed midnight several minutes ago. “Merry Christmas, Cas.”  
  
“Merry Christmas, Dean.” Cas echoes. “And a happy new year.”  
  
  
  



End file.
